An all-day celebration of smoke, sizzle, and self-proclaimed masculinity crowns one champion with the coveted Most Valuable Carnivore (MVC) award. Welcome to Meatfest. May your brisket be tender and your weigh-out triumphant.
Once a year, a band of men who absolutely have their lives together convene for the most prestigious culinary event on the calendar. Each man brings one unique meat dish. The grills are fired up. Yard games are played with questionable athleticism. No vegetables allowed.
Nobody here smokes. Except at Meatfest, where everybody smokes. Cheeky cigs are passed around freely throughout the day. No judgment. No questions. Just smoke.
Every attendee brings a unique meat preparation. No repeats. No duplicates. Absolutely no salad.
Grills lit at dawn. They don't go cold until the last man is weighed and either crowned or shamed.
Consumed freely and in volume. Bring your own. The cooler is common ground. The brotherhood is real.
Cornhole, horseshoes, and other activities that let men pretend athleticism is still something they have.
Every attendee is weighed upon arrival and again at departure. The man who gains the most weight through sheer, undeniable meat consumption is crowned the Most Valuable Carnivore. The trophy is heavy. So is the winner. The title is eternal.
Voted on by the brotherhood. The meat that made grown men emotional and question their own cooking abilities.
For the man who took the biggest culinary risk. Win or lose — respect the audacity. The Council salutes you.
Awarded to the man who sampled every dish without complaint, hesitation, or medical incident.
Glory through cornhole. Crowned after the tournament. A man of coordination and inexplicable confidence.
Perfect execution at the grill. Technique. Timing. Confidence. The complete package in a set of tongs.
A participation trophy for the man who tried genuinely hard and landed squarely in average. We see you.
Step on the official Meatfest scale. Weight recorded by a Councillor in the Meatfest Ledger. No shoes. No excuses.
Eat. Drink. Compete. Do what you came here to do. The MVC does not go to the timid or the polite.
Step on the scale again. The delta is calculated to the ounce. The greatest gainer is crowned MVC forever.
The Meat Council assumes no medical responsibility for the pursuit of the MVC award. Consult your physician. Or don't. It's Meatfest.
Arrive. Step on the scale. Your starting weight is recorded in the Meatfest Ledger by a Councillor. Then crack a beer. The day has begun.
The Council ceremonially ignites the first grill. The smell of smoke, char, and raw potential fills the yard. Men stand around it doing nothing helpful.
A time-honored competition of speed, commitment, and questionable hygiene. No hands. Face first. The winner earns eternal bragging rights and a towel. The losers earn nothing but wet faces and the memory of trying.
Every man presents his dish before the Council and the brotherhood. Dishes are tasted, judged, and debated with the seriousness of a war tribunal. The MVC race is officially on. May the heaviest man win.
The cornhole bracket commences. Horseshoes follow. Competitive spirits emerge despite the significant physical limitations introduced by three hours of meat consumption.
Enter the Smash Zone. What happens here is governed by the Council and described to no one outside of it. All we can say is that it is loud, it is physical, and someone always leaves with a story they will tell for years.
The event that defies explanation and demands participation. One man wrangles. The rest watch. Rules are unclear. Scoring is disputed. The Council's judgment is final and also somewhat arbitrary. Legends are made here.
Best Meat, Most Audacious Preparation, Iron Stomach, Meat Trials Champion, Grillmaster GOAT, and Most Aggressively Mid — bestowed by decree of the Council.
As darkness falls, the sacred Meat Torches are placed around the yard and lit in a solemn ceremony presided over by the full Council. The yard glows. The night begins. No one fully understands the tradition but everyone agrees it rules.
The torches burn. The beers are cold. The stories get better and less accurate. A second wind of eating is encouraged in the name of MVC glory.
Glow-in-the-dark cornhole. Torch-lit horseshoes. Events that seemed like a good idea at 10 PM and will absolutely seem like a great idea at midnight.
The most legendary moment of the night. The last survivors gather around the open fire. Raw steaks go directly on the coals. No grates. No rules. No mercy. This is what Meatfest was always building toward. The smoke reaches heaven itself.
Continuous, uninterrupted consumption from gates open to final weigh-out. This needs no further elaboration.
Nobody here smokes. Except today. Cigs circulate freely and without shame throughout the entire day. A Meatfest tradition as sacred as the MVC itself. You don't have to. But you probably will.
The final, sacred ritual. Every man steps on the scale one last time. The greatest gainer — bloated with pride and protein — is crowned the Most Valuable Carnivore. The title is eternal. The man is full.
Every man must bring one unique meat dish. No duplicate proteins. The Council resolves all disputes. By decree.
Vegetables may appear as garnish only. They shall not be celebrated, featured, or discussed at any time.
All attendees must be weighed upon arrival. No shoes. No extra clothing. No negotiating with the Council.
The MVC is determined by weight gained through meat consumption. The honor system is in full effect.
Council decisions are final. Appeals may be submitted and will be received with silence and mild contempt.
Every man brings his own beer. The cooler is communal. The brotherhood is real. Do not show up empty-handed.
Yard game trash talk is not only permitted but expected. Do not take it personally. Do take it seriously.
What happens at Meatfest stays at Meatfest. Except the MVC title. That gets announced to everyone, forever.
Yellow speedo. Lit tiki torch. Inflatable pool in the background. This is not a man who stumbled into greatness — this is a man who planned for it.
He is the inspiration. He is the legend. He is the reason we built the game. May he run forever through the backyard of our hearts.
Arrow Keys / WASD to move · Run over meat to eat it · Touch tiki torches to light them · Light all torches before time runs out